


SCP-Marty

by 28_Characters_Later



Category: SCP - Containment Breach, SCP Foundation, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 06:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11754192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/28_Characters_Later/pseuds/28_Characters_Later
Summary: This was the final project in my uni course. Basically the story was going to be completely different and actually be the backstory for this here Marco blog, however, when I became stuck on the original story (fully allowed, they knew it was fanfiction on an anime) I watched Markiplier’s SCP-containment breach playlist (before he started it up again) and then had this as a dream that night. So I wrote it out exactly how the dream happened, sort of, it originally had a different ending. I still have that ending if people prefer it.





	SCP-Marty

SCP-MARTY

Trucks and jeeps, in camouflage green, crunch through the trees. Before Marty can process what is happening, thick, heavy chains are looped around his wrists, and he is thrown into an armoured military van. He hears his brother and friend demanding he be released. Marty lands on one knee and crashes to his side. A pair of huge arms with navy-blue sleeves drag him the rest of the way in. Wincing from the rough gloves digging into his arm, Marty tries to sit up, only to gasp at a round blue-metal eye staring down at him: it’s a giant gun. He stays quiet.

Marty lays on the floor of the van, hoping that if these people were going to kill him, they would have done so already. Maybe they will eventually let him go. They have no faces: all Marty can see are shiny blank helmeted visors.

The ride lasts for hours. Though he tries his best not to move, every bump or pothole lurches Marty forward, or back, or sideways,. He clenches his eyes tight to avoid the gun barrel pointing at his face. All he can do is hope his twin and Armin weren’t harmed in the abduction.

The tyres crunch along, over twigs and leaves. After a while, Marty cracks an eye open, attempting to guess where he is, but the only window is the windshield. Marty doesn’t risk trying to take a look through that.

The van finally stops. Marty hears one of the front doors open and slam shut and soon after the scrape of metal sliding on metal just to his side before a pair of hands drag him out. He’s thrown to his feet and stumbles, trying not to fall.

Now, Marty’s eyes dart around but all he can see are trees and a large white building with _S.C.P. Foundation_ engraved on the side. Aside from the pounding in his chest, the only sound is the crackle and buzz of a walkie-talkie. Marty is shoved into the building.

Marty looks around wildly as he is pushed down hallways, but the few doors he is able to spot are closed. Little white plastic plates are beside each door with the same S.C.P. acronym followed by various numbers. Underneath the plates are folders sticking out of plastic holders, like the kind in a doctor’s office. Hard leather hands shove him forward, and one soldier jerks him along by the elbow, which tugs painfully on his chained wrists.

After blurring past many doors, Marty is finally led into a room with just a metal table, a metal chair on each side, and a long mirror lining one wall. Marty guesses this is an interview room. It looks just like the interview room on every cop show he’s ever seen.

One of the men shoves him onto a chair and handcuffs him to some metal loops that he now notices are attached to the chair. The men then exit, leaving Marty alone.

Marty takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. _Is Marco dead? Will these people kill me?_ He can’t stop shaking. The metal table has deep gouges on the surface, and dark brown stains.

Marty looks up at the long window, guessing the men might be behind it, watching him. He wishes he was sitting, bored, in high school, a normal teen, in a normal world. He glares at the mirror, fantasizing he could set it on fire with the power of his rage. He wants to yell to be let go, that he didn’t fully turn, and squirm to get out of the cuffs, but those guns the men have are very large. Marty may have survived a zombie bite, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t survive gunfire. There are only so many times someone can cheat death. Marty shuts his eyes and sighs through his nose, deeply regretting that day in the woods, as they foraged for supplies. They’d spotted a man in a lab coat. His little group had approached him, curious to see if he could help with Marty’s partial infection.

After Marty has scowled at the two-way mirror for a while, two men enter the room. One is a short, balding middle-aged man in a lab coat and holding a clipboard, who sits in the chair on the other side of the table. The other, a giant in the navy and black helmeted uniform Marty has seen before, stands in front of the door with one of those large guns. Marty stares icy daggers at the men. In the woods, before, he could have killed this mousy little worm with the clipboard, without even turning. But now, the worm has a pet giant. He stays quiet.

“So, do you know why you’re here?” Clipboard Man croaks out, not even bothering to look up from the papers. Marty is silent. “Okay,” the man says, “then, why do you look so strange? Why are your eyes two different colors?”

 _Ah. I’m here to be a freak._ Marty somehow manages to not yell or curse. _There’s the massive guy at the door; if I freak, he’ll hit me with that gun._ Clipboard smirks; he’s on a power trip. People like that react badly when anyone fights back. “You should know why. You and your goons kidnapped me because of it.”

The man taps his pen on the clipboard. “It would be better for you if you just answer the question about your eyes.”

Marty glances at the giant by the door, and turns back to the man. “Fine. I was bit by a zombie – I can show you the bite if I have to – and it only half infected me, so I have one infected yellow eye.”

The man remains silent. His pen scratches like a thorn. “Where is it located?”

Marty slightly raises his right hand, as much as the chains allow, and waves it a little, exposing a corner of the bandages under his sleeve. The man shoots his eyes back to the guard by the door, snaps his fingers and points to Marty’s arm.

The guard glides across the room like a ghost. Marty tries to squirm away. Without any effort, he grabs Marty’s wrist.

“Whoa, whoa, hey!”

“Relax. He’s just going to reveal your bite, not remove your arm.”

With a sharp hiss, Marty grimaces while the guard rolls up the sleeve and unwinds the bandages.

“It’s hard to tell.”

Marty winces while the guard bends his arm backwards to show the interviewer the bite without having to unlock the cuffs.

The interviewer scratches more notes and then nods.

The guard rewraps the bandages and pulls the sleeve back down. Marty lets out the breath he was holding and sags slightly in the chair when his arm is released from that unnatural angle.

He moves his left hand to try and rub his sore wrist, but the chain stops him a few inches short.

“Does the infection cause any other side effects? Other than one yellow eye?”

Marty cringes at that question. He has a bad feeling about answering this truthfully, but he can’t tell lies. Marco and Armin always catch him. Not wanting to answer, he stays quiet.

“It would be in your best interest to answer.”

“What would you do if I did?” Marty doesn’t ask with an attitude or anger but more with fear of what these people might actually do.

Instead of answering, Clipboard Man writes down his reaction and then simply asks: “What are they?”

Marty hesitates before responding. “I have moments where I black out and act like a regular zombie.”

“What do you do exactly?” he asks, writing. He doesn’t look up.

“Act like a regular zombie.” The interviewer sighs and repeats his question. “Try to attack people, alright? I don’t know if I ever actually bit someone, my brother never told me. All he ever says is I attack a few animals! That enough detail?”

“Anything else?”

Marty shakes his head.

“What about how other … creatures, react to you? Since you’re, for the most part, one of them.”

Marty turns his bitter glare to the damaged table. He hates to admit it, but he isn’t fully human anymore. “Dead ones still treat me the same, I guess because I still have a pulse. For the most part live ones either ignore me or sniff at me and then move on. Unless there’s something going on and they’re in a frenzy.”

“Interesting: under certain conditions you’re seen as one of them.” Marty doesn’t respond. “Was it an alive or dead one that bit you?”

Marty shrugs, not looking up from the table. “Could have been either. Both kinds were around and there was a lot going on.” Marty pauses and only then turns back towards the interviewer. “Look, I know you brought me here because of this, but the little group I was with was handling it fine.-”

“I’m going to stop you there,” the interviewer interrupts. “We only found out about you because your small group approached one of our men asking for help, so the three of you were not ‘handling it well.’ It’s better you stay here where we can monitor your behaviour safely.”

Marty clenches his fists, leaning forward slightly. “Then can you tell the two I was with I’m ok? You fucks took me away, and they might think I’ve been shot!”

“You still might be if you keep shouting.” Marty flinches back in the chair. “We’ll continue this when you’re in a more cooperative mood.” He turns to the guard. “He’s at least partially human so he’s not getting a number, but take him to one of the empty holding cells.”

The guard approaches Marty and unlocks the chains from the chair. Marty scowls, but otherwise lets himself be led, not wanting to provoke the guard into shooting him. As he is yanked into the doorframe and dragged from the room, he stabs one last angry glare back towards the interviewer before facing forward again. 

They march down long, dingy grey hallways, turning corners. Marty glances at the doors they pass. Along with ‘SCP’ and some numbers, each door has a picture and some strange words. Marty raises an eyebrow at all the inanimate objects such as rings, masks and books. He can understand living creatures locked up, but not _things._ He isn’t allowed to look. Any time his pace slows the guard shoves him along. Marty glowers each time, but doesn’t fight back.

After one last time of being jerked away before he can focus on a picture, Marty gives up. He frowns down at the cracked lino and quietly lets himself be dragged through the halls.

Marty tries to ignore the pictures, and just focus on how to get away. But there’s only doors, and no windows. With all the guns and guards, Marty realises it will be better to let things cool down before attempting to find a way out.

Marty wonders if maybe this entire building is made of hallways until they arrive at an unmarked door.

The guard pulls a key card from a breast pocket on his vest, and taps it to a panel. He beeps in some numbers. Marty attempts to figure out which ones are being selected, peering out from the corners of his eyes. The guard whacks him on the back of the head. “Cut it out, asshole.” He clips open Marty’s handcuffs and shoves him into the room. Marty rubs his wrists as the door slams and he hears a series of beeps.

He listens to the tap of shoes slowly fade. And then there is silence.

Marty sighs and drags his feet to a corner. Sitting down, he takes off his glasses, shutting his eyes as he rubs the bridge of his nose. With a frustrated groan, Marty wipes the lenses with a corner of his dirty shirt, and puts them back on. He pulls his legs up to his chest, hugs his knees and rests his head on his arms.

He loses track of how long he sits like this. Eventually the anger and fear wear off, replaced with exhaustion.

 

A loud buzz from somewhere outside Marty’s cell scares him awake. He startles at the sudden noise, tumbling over. Pushing himself off the floor, he franticly scans the cell as he tries to figure out what’s happening.

A message soon booms over the loudspeakers.

_“The site is experiencing multiple Keter and Euclid level containment breaches. Full site lockdown initiated."_

The loudspeakers fall silent and some of the lights flicker out. The alarm fizzles away.

Standing, Marty makes his way over to the door, hoping a ‘breach’ means he can use the confusion to escape. He stabs his fingers repeatedly on the door panel. No luck. It doesn’t open. “Fuck!” He kicks the metallic door and then runs a hand through his short black hair.

Pacing the small cell, Marty tries to come up with a plan. If there is some kind of emergency, people are going to check on the cells and see if everything is still locked up. If Marty rushes them the moment they open the door and just runs for it, maybe he can escape. The loudspeakers announced a ‘full lockdown’ but if he hid somewhere until it’s lifted, he might have a chance to slip out.

He moves back to the door, pressing an ear against it and squints, listening for anyone heading his direction.

Beyond the door it’s mostly silent except for what sounds like a heavy rock being scraped down the hallway.

Marty pulls back, when the sound of another door sliding open catches his attention. He slams his ear back against the cold metal surface.

He hears a startled gasp and pounding footsteps pass by. It doesn’t sound like any of the soldiers, so he decides to take the chance. Before the person is too far away, Marty starts banging on the door with clenched fists. “Hey! Hey, help! Let me out of here!” Marty presses his ear back against the door.

The footsteps pause, then carry on. A voice calls out, “Keep calling so I can find you!”

“Hey! I’m in here! Help! Over here!”

The fast steps return. The door emits a tiny beep, and opens. Before Marty can run out, the other person barrels inside, slapping a card at the panel. The door beeps closed.

This new person, an older man, wears an orange jumpsuit, like a prisoner. Marty cautiously steps back, watching as the other presses his own ear against the door. The two can hear scraping sounds. “Oh, it’s gotta be right outside the door…”

“What is?”

The man jumps, seeming to have forgotten about Marty. He turns towards him. “It’s called SCP-173. It’s this statue but if you even blink, it’ll snap your neck.” Marty raises a sceptical eyebrow. “No? Don’t blink.” With that, he beeps open the door, staring at the humanoid statue now filling the opening.

“The fuck!” Marty jumps to the far wall. The man taps a card on the panel, closing the door, locking it. “So that was the thing making that scraping?”

The frightened man nods. “All I know is that it only moves when it’s not watched.” The other’s eyes widen as he has an idea. “If we work together, we’ll have an easier time avoiding things.”

Marty blinks and then nods. He hadn’t planned on actually having help.

“Great, my name’s Andrew. I’m a recyclable human, ha-ha. My big mistake was to steal a car.” He holds out his hand for a shake.

“Marty.” Marty grips Andrew’s hand.

Before Marty is able to pull back, Andrew notices his dual eyes in the dimmed lighting. “Holy shit, are you one of them?”

Marty shakes his head. “They say I am, but I just want to get out of here. Go and find my brother.”

Andrew narrows his eyes, but the mention of family seems to win him over. “Alright, keep watch on the statue, we’ll slip past it.”

Unlocking the door with the key card, Marty cringes, but stares at the statue while Andrew climbs out of the room around it.

“Alright, now you can come on,” Andrew calls from the other side of the statue. He stares at it while Marty climbs around it, then Andrew quickly runs backwords, pulling Marty towards another door. Not taking his eyes off the statue he beeps the door open, pulls Marty through, and punches the button to reclose the door.

The pair continue straight ahead through another door into a dimly lit red room. Ducking into a small alcove, Andrew pushes another button, opening the door out of the room and into another hallway.

“How do you know where to go?” Marty blurts out as he follows Andrew.

“I don’t. This place was built like a maze – probably for this very reason, to keep anyone or anything from getting out. It’s all just best guess until we’re out.”

Looking around, the pair see blank concrete walls, exposed pipes, and a large sign for BOILER ROOM in red letters, with an arrow underneath. This hall is so extended it seems endless, and the floor is only a narrow concrete bridge crossing an empty darkness. Glancing left and right, Andrew and Marty dart forward, over the bridge. Black gas shoots up, like upside-down waterfalls: thick, fast, and powerful.

Andrew pats a hand up and down his jumpsuit. “Shit, that’s right. Forgot to grab a gas mask.”

Marty turns back, looking for another option, but jumps upon seeing the statue. “Jesus fuck! It can go past doors?” It stands directly behind him, blocking his way.

Keeping their eyes on the statue, Andrew and Marty dart backwards across the bridge. The gas burns their eyes and makes them cough. They stumble away, choking, desperately trying keeping the statue in their sight, eyes streaming with tears.

While falling backwards, Marty collides with a door and frantically feels behind him for the button. The gas makes it hard to keep his eyes open. As he locates the button, Marty hears a crack to his left. The door opens and he darts through, waiting a moment for Andrew, but soon spots him lying on the ground next to the statue; his head facing the wrong way. Cursing under his breath, Marty punches the button again to close the door.

Marty’s heart is pounding. Not wanting to wait for the smooth and feature-less human-shaped sculpture to open the door, he runs forward, glancing over his shoulder. He doesn’t want to be caught off guard. He closes each door behind him just in case.

Marty doesn’t have the type of card that Andrew used on keypads, so he is glad none of these doors seem to need one.

Coming to yet another set of hallways, he feels lost and confused. Andrew had been right about this place being a maze, every hall looks the same. Maybe he’s going in circles and just passing the same places again and again.

After yet another set of doors, Marty sighs with relief at the sight of something new. Not even caring where it goes, he sprints into what appears to be an elevator on his left. Marty pushes the button and after the doors close, the elevator moves down. Once the doors reopen, he peeks out cautiously. It looks clear: just more maintenance tunnels.

Marty sighs. More hallways. With nowhere else to go, he leaves the small safety of the elevator. These new concrete tunnels zigzag for a few turns before sloping down.

A poster on the wall catches Marty’s attention: ‘SCP-049, sentient and violent.’ On the picture, the creature wears a long black hooded robe, and a porcelain mask with a long slightly curved beak-like nose covering its face. Only the cold, yet oddly human grey eyes are visible.

He turns and nearly trips over the shirtless body of a male, lying on its back. There is a long incision down its exposed torso, resewn with thick, black thread. Dried blood is around the incision and smeared over the chest. 

Trying to keep from panicking, he rushes down the slope, turning corners until he finds another elevator. Nothing happens when he hits the button. Nothing happens when the button is hit rapidly either.

Letting out a string of curses under his breath, Marty tip-toes back.

There’s an open room that Marty had passed. Cautiously stepping up to a desk and computer, Marty scans the area for something that might … do anything helpful.

Footsteps catch his attention. He spins around, coming face to face with something a little taller than him, in all black with an odd bird mask on its face. The beak is long. The creature matches its poster. With a start, Marty realizes the mask resembles mediaeval plague doctor masks from long ago. Just like from history class: this is not good.

Marty tries to back away, but is already up against the desk. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to find my way out of your space.” Marty attempts to duck past it. “I’ll just be going-”

It cuts Marty off mid-sentence by touching him on the forehead.

Marty feels like he’s been plugged into the mains. He burns. He’s paralysed, then everything goes black.

 

Marty groans in pain. Rubbing his head, he slowly props himself up with his other hand. Looking around doesn’t help, his vision blurs and spins. Managing to sit up, he shuts his eyes and focuses only on attempting to rub away the pounding headache.

As Marty wipes his eyes, he pauses briefly and pats around his face, cursing when he can’t feel his glasses.

He manages to roll over onto his knees, stretching his arms as far as he can reach, patting the ground gently in every direction. After several moments, Marty moves forward to repeat the searching.

He hears the ruffle of cloth in the distance and then footsteps heading his way.

Before he is able to decide what to do, his glasses are forcibly shoved onto his face at an angle. Quickly adjusting them with one hand, Marty blinks and then turns his gaze up, seeing the looming and dark figure from before. He quickly scrambles to his feet.

“So you can’t see at all without those. I’ll keep that in mind the next time I operate,” it states in observation, with an emotionless, toneless, echo-y voice; almost like a robot.

Marty furrows his eyebrows in confusion. He opens and closes his mouth a few times as he fails to speak his thoughts.

It takes a moment, but finally he finds his voice. “You took my glasses just to see if I could see without them?”

It shrugs. “Not many who need magnified glass to see wander down here,” it responds, with indifference. “I was curious.”

Marty’s eyes narrow as the rest sinks in, particularly the word _operate._ He hesitates to look away from the creature, fearing it might attack if not stared at like that statue. He finally tears his eyes away to check himself over. He peers closely at his arms and legs but finally finds a thin scar running up his chest under his shirt.

“The fuck you do to me?” Marty demands, dropping his shirt and backing away.

It regards Marty silently for a moment before finally responding. “Not a lot. I couldn’t perform my usual curing operation. Normally my patients don’t have a pulse while I work on them. After the initial cut and I found things still … active, I merely sewed the wound closed before continuing my work.”

Marty’s eyes go wide. “What fucking rest of your work? What the hell did you _do_ to me?” Though still wanting answers, Marty keeps his distance from this creature, occasionally taking another step away with a quick glance around for a way to escape.

“My usual work. But that’s also what’s fascinating.” It moves forward and Marty jumps back. It hesitates, then stays put, and continues talking, raising a hand and gesturing towards a corner of the dim maintenance tunnel. It’s too dark to see, but shuffling, dragging steps can be heard. “Normally my patients end up like that. But you. You’re not entirely human, are you,” it adds. 

The creature’s face is unreadable behind its mask; Marty can only make out the emotionless eyes. The pit of unease in Marty’s stomach grows.

Realizing he is frozen, Marty starts backing away again when his heart sinks at its next statement:

“I’ll want to study you for different reactions.”

Marty breaks into a full run, darting away from the creature, past its ‘patient’ and down the long maintenance tunnel.

Coming across an elevator, Marty hits the button. Nothing happens. “Oh no, no, not again, come-fucking-on...” Marty starts to pound the button, knowing it probably won’t work, but that creature terrifies him.

The elevator refuses to appear. Marty keeps hitting the button, trying to will it to work.

After a moment the shuffling steps of the ‘patient’ sound far too close. Giving up on the elevator, Marty backs away until he reaches the wall.

“No, no. Leave him for me.” The reanimated corpse sways for a few seconds before staggering off. Waiting until the living dead moves, the ‘plague doctor’ then strides to where Marty flinches as close to the wall as possible. “Don’t be afraid.”

Marty refuses to move. “You fuckin’ cut me open and want to ‘study’ me! It’s a _little_ late for that!”

A moment of silence passes and Marty hesitantly peeks one eye open. He is curious why it isn’t forcibly knocking him out again.

The plague doctor eyes Marty. “Have you calmed down now?” It reaches for Marty, who shuts his eyes again and flinches away further. “Stop resisting. I can’t find a way to cure you, if you won’t let me.”

Marty narrows his eyes, untrusting. “What do you mean ‘cure’?”

“Your disease of course, my boy. I am a doctor after all.” Marty bites his lower lip but stays firmly pressed against the wall. The monotone drones on: “What’s your name?”

Marty eyes it, every sense alert, the way you would in a cage with a tiger. He wonders where it’s going with this. “…Marty.”

“Marty,” it repeats, “let me work on you. I promise I won’t hurt you.” It stretches a black leather-gloved hand to him, palm up. “I could find out what’s different about your disease, and maybe even cure you.”

Marty flinches from the hand, his voice rising in panic. “You just said your ‘patients’ end up as full zombies!”

“You’re interesting. I won’t turn you into one of my usual cured patients. I would lose the opportunity to learn something from you.”

Marty whimpers and after a moment, starts to reach his hand out before pausing. He remembers being rendered unconscious after this creature touched him before. “Wait, I’ll go with you, to avoid being dragged…”

Silently it moves aside, gesturing for Marty to walk ahead. It guides him, by holding out its arms on either side, herding him down a corridor and into a room. Marty can see a bare metal table. 

Marty’s heart pounds. He feels lightheaded and nauseous as he stares at the table, then climbs on and lays down. Before the creature can touch him, Marty sits up, inching away. “Wait. You know my name, what’s yours?”

It watches him for a moment, slightly annoyed at the obvious stalling. “You can call me whatever you like.”

“How about The Doctor then?”

“Lay back down.”

Easing himself down, Marty only stays still for a moment. He sits back up before ‘The Doctor’ can touch him.

“You know, I was thinking-”

The creature lays its gloved hand on his forehead. The electrical feeling overcomes him again before he falls numb and blacks out.

 

Marty groans as he fumbles for the sides of the table. He pushes himself up. Rubbing his head, his fingers brush against his glasses hanging from one ear and he pushes them back up over his eyes. He then notices the blood on his chest. He yelps, struggling to his feet, falling off the table in his haste. Blood coats his hands like sticky gloves. Sickness rises in his throat. Marty covers his mouth with bloodied hands trying not to throw up. He has killed again.

Marty hears the creature, the so-called Doctor that has caused this infected episode, stirring in the distance. He wants to run but he can’t stop his legs from shaking. He’s clearly ripped someone apart.

“You’re quite hostile when you’re like that.”

Still trembling, Marty forces himself to move, backing away as The Doctor steps closer. “Yeah, no fucking shit, pal! I thought you said you were going to _help!”_

“My boy, I _am._ This is a fascinating part of yourself you shouldn’t hide away.” Marty finds his legs, turning and running down the hallway. He hopes that poor person he’s ripped apart left the elevator working. “You’re safer down here, Marty.”

“You lied! You said you wouldn’t make me act like one of your other ‘patients!’” Marty yells, sprinting to the elevator and hitting the button. He chokes back a sob when the doors ‘ding’ open.

As he leaps inside, the last thing he hears from The Doctor is “You’ll be back once something tries to kill you.” Marty leans against the back of the elevator breathing in and out slowly, attempting to steady his breath.

As the doors ‘ding’ open, Marty peeks out, looking left and then right, then creeps into the hall. He stumbles upon a bathroom. Darting inside, he washes the blood from his hands and face. The cold water is calming. Letting the water run, Marty starts to pull his shirt off then he freezes. This outfit is all he has and he can’t wait for it to dry. Marty chokes back a sob. He has no choice, and pulls the sticky fabric back down.

Twisting the faucet and stopping the steady flow of water, Marty takes a few deep breaths. He stares at himself in the mirror, preparing to kill, to die, to feel pain, to be terrified. Then, he marches out of the bathroom.

Slipping down the hall, steadily, quickly, but quietly, Marty opens every door he comes to. With this place being so maze-like, he reasons the exit can be behind any door.

Checking one room, Marty finds a folder on various other SCPs. He flips through it and backs out.

The top profile makes Marty gulp: SCP-096, a thin creature with unnaturally long limbs that kills anything that sees its face. Just as he flicks the next page, he hears the sound of concrete scraping against concrete. His head snaps up and his eyes dart around. Clutching the folder, Marty hurries through the nearest door.

The lock clicks quietly as he leans on it. He scans the area. Off in the distance, he can hear screams, then the rat-tat-tat stutter of a machine gun. Two long windows, spattered with blood, line the left side of the corridor, with a door in between them. At the far end is another door. The other side of the windows is in gloom. Marty crawls beneath the windows to the opposite door, which has a simple red button next to it. Marty whaps it. Nothing! “Shit…”

Marty creeps backwards, staying below the first window. The blood on it is fresh: it’s still running down in red streams. He peeks in through gaps in the spatter, willing himself invisible. Through the gloom he can see several panels with small blinking lights, switches, and large levers. He peers harder, trying to read a sign above two large silver levers: MASTER DOOR RELEASE. But the room isn’t empty. His blood runs cold at the pale, skeletal-thin creature swaying in the corner. It’s giant and has claws instead of hands at the end of its abnormally long arms.

Shaking, Marty keeps his eyes down, staring at the floor as he enters the room. The file claims it won’t attack, as long as it isn’t seen. Marty prays this is correct.

Eyes glued to the ground, Marty creeps around the room. The creature makes a noise and Marty freezes, shutting his eyes tight. Marty whimpers as he feels it brush past him.

After a small eternity he peeks, keeping his gaze down. His breath catches and stutters, as he sneaks over to the levers.

As soon as Marty flips them, a dark grey almost black humanoid creature starts seeping up through the floor. Marty doesn’t wait to find out what that one does. Eyes still cast down Marty stumbles to the corridor. This time, the red button opens the other door.

Marty sprints down the hallway. Trying to put significant distance between himself and those two other creatures, he misses the sound of concrete on concrete. Without warning, something solid appears in Marty’s path, clothes-lining him hard in the neck.

Coughing and gasping, Marty gently rubs his throat. Looking up his eyes widen to see the statue.

“Can’t you fuckers give me a fucking break?” It comes out as a pained wheeze.

Keeping his eyes on the statue, Marty climbs to his feet and sprints the rest of the way down the hallway, darting through the nearest door.

Once it is closed, Marty leans against it, shutting his eyes and rubbing his throat. It hurts to swallow; his skin is tender. He makes himself swallow a few times. But he has to keep moving before the statue snaps his neck.

Looking around he walks, he’s in another string of hallways and doors. Marty can believe everyone in the facility has gone nuts. You could lose your mind easily in endless maddening hallways like this.

Only one door is open. Marty realises it’s an elevator. He hesitates. He doesn’t want to be brought back down to that wannabe Plague Doctor, but after a moment he reasons that this facility is huge, this elevator couldn’t lead down there as well. Maybe it goes up.

Staggering into the elevator, Marty can’t hit the button fast enough.

His heart sinks as the elevator begins to descend.

The doors ding open and Marty peeks out. It’s dark but the walls are deep red, there’s a sweet metallic smell. Still, The Doctor doesn’t seem to be here, so he takes a few cautious steps out of the elevator.

“Hey! Hey, help! Let me out of here!” Marty hears as he approaches a corner. He freezes. Someone is trapped like he had been, when Andrew showed up. After a moment he glances back at the elevator, debating whether to flee or not. The voice sounds panicked. Maybe this person can help him escape? Maybe they can work together. Marty once had a chance with Andrew.

Taking a deep breath, Marty replies, in a loud whisper. “Hello? I’m not a threat. Where are you?”

This was a mistake.

As the words leave Marty’s mouth, a large, deep red lizard with very long claws and very long teeth rounds the corner at a terrifying speed.

“Jesus fuck!”

He dives for the elevator, however the lizard gets to him first. One front limb slices deep gashes across his stomach while the other digs into his back.

Marty screams, frantically kicking and punching at the lizard. Jamming one thumb into a red nostril, he digs his other thumb into one of its yellow eyes. 

Marty’s vision begins to blur as he keeps jamming the lizard in the eye until it finally releases him. He hastily drags himself back towards the elevator, hitting the button as he enters.

Once the doors close, Marty lays on the floor, panting heavily. He’s losing too much blood, and just breathing shoots pain up his spine.

He winces, trying to focus on breathing and staying conscious. As the doors open, Marty tries dragging himself out.

He can barely move, he’s too dizzy from blood loss and his limbs are going numb. The world goes black before he can pull himself out of the elevator.

 

Marty feels a hand lightly slapping his face and soon a voice joins it. “…id. Hey, kid. You still alive?” Marty chokes out a few coughs, forcing his eyes open. He is greeted with a white drama mask, with black streaks of … something, leaking from the eyes and mouth. The person wearing it is blackened down to the chest and talks in a deceptively ‘normal’ voice. “There you are. Thought I lost you for a second. Got a buddy looking for you.”

Marty wheezes as he tries to sit up. “B… buddy?” His head swims, causing him to sink back down.

This new creature takes a jade ring out of one of its pockets. “Gave me this when he asked me to find you. Didn’t want you rotting from being too close to me, I guess. Here, put it on.” It forces the ring onto Marty’s index finger.

It scoops Marty up, holding him like a baby, the blood pouring from Marty’s wounds adding to its already stained clothes, and walks off right away. Marty groans in pain as he wheezes his unanswered question. “W…who’s your … buddy?”

“I tend to give him a new nickname every time I see him. He likes to think he’s an amazing doctor who can cure anything. He’s not that bad but he’s really great at killin’ people.” It responds casually, not breaking stride.

Marty’s eyes widen as he weakly squirms. “No… no! Don’t bring me to him! Let … let me go…!”

Its grasp doesn’t loosen. “Hey, hey, easy there. You’ve lost so much blood, a fall _will_ kill you.”

“I don’t care! Let me go!”

Marty keeps squirming, trying to wiggle out of its grasp, as it enters another elevator. As the doors open, the squirming changes into clinging. Marty buries his face in the shirt stained with the same putrid stuff oozing from the mask, and shakes.

The mask glances at him before calling “Yo, Plague-y! Got your boy!” 

The mask makes it hard to tell, but it seems amused by the slightly annoyed “Every time. _Every time_ it’s something new…” mumble from the end of the hallway.

The Plague Doctor soon emerges from the shadows. “Thank you.” As it stretches out its arms to take Marty, it catches sight of the blood. All it does is sigh. Pointing out it had been correct in saying Marty would get himself killed would be beating an almost dead horse.

The mask tries handing Marty over, but even in his weakened state, his fingers curl into the fabric of the shirt trying his hardest to hang on. “C’mon, let go, kid.” It takes some prying, but the mask finally pulls Marty away, handing him over to the Doctor. Marty’s normally tan skin is sickly pale due to blood loss. He hiccups through the tears that he must have started shedding at some point on the way down. His glasses are smudged and stained with blood.

The Doctor carries Marty over to the operating table, setting him down gently. It holds out a hand. Nothing happens.

Marty narrows his eyes in confusion.

The Doctor glances away from Marty’s eyes for a moment, darting to the ring on his finger, before meeting Marty’s scared gaze once more. Following the quick look, Marty pulls the ring off and hands it over. As soon as the ring is off, a quick hand darts to his forehead.

As Marty slips into darkness, he hears; “You and your experiments. He’s terrified of you.”

 

Pain. That’s the first thing Marty registers. Grimacing, he forces his eyes open, looking around before he even thinks about sitting up. He’s still on the operating table and still in the bloodied mess that was once his clothing, but there are new bandages wrapped around him and a few new stitched up wounds.

Marty then notices a bowl of food. Recognizable food - nothing raw and bloodied - but an actual bowl of chili, placed beside the operating table. Next to this are several Styrofoam cups of orange juice.

His stomach rumbles. The entire time he’s been trapped in this facility of nightmares, it’s been a steady stream of constant terror. He can’t remember the last time he ate and all but pours the chili down his throat. He thinks he uses a spoon. He can’t remember.

While shoveling food in, Marty chokes on a mouthful upon noticing the Doctor sitting not too far away.

“You can relax. I’m not so cruel I won’t let you finish eating. Feeling better?” Swallowing, Marty nods. The creature folds its arms behind its head, and leans back in its chair. “And yet no one likes to believe me when I say I am a doctor.”

It falls silent, letting Marty finish his food, only standing to pick up the empty bowl and cups. “Do you believe me now when I say you are safer down here? I might study you, but I won’t actively kill you.”

 _At least not the way the red lizard tried to,_ Marty thinks.

“Can’t I just … leave? You won’t get any more results from me. I’m literally useless as a test subject.”

“It’s not just _me_ keeping you here. Once _they_ bring someone here to be ‘contained’, the only way out is in a body bag.” Marty’s heart sinks as he hangs his head. “Curing and experimenting helps pass the time.” It pauses as it tosses the bowl into a trashcan with a clunk: “Though I will permit your wounds to heal a little more before we proceed. Too much too soon could actually kill you. And we wouldn’t want that.” Marty isn’t sure, but he thinks it’s smiling.

Marty doesn’t look up or respond. He feels numb. After all of the running around, he’s back here. He misses his brother. He wants to go home, wants his family. Marty lays back on the table, staring at nothing. It is clear the Plague Doctor doesn’t want to let him go. But it also has a point: Marty can’t find his way out of this facility avoiding all the many things and people that would kill him on sight. And he was taken here in a van. Marco and Armin will probably never find this place. Even if they did, how would they get in, rescue him, and then get back out? He shuts his eyes, knowing he will probably never see his twin again.

***

“The tracks lead this way!”

Armin runs back to Marco, pushing the wheelchair after the tyre tracks.

“I’m so stupid! We should’ve never approached that man. Who knows what they’re doing to Marty.” Marco actually pulls out some of his own hair.

“It’s not your fault. You were trying to find someone that might help.” Armin is now jogging as he pushes Marco. A net bag holding a gun hangs off the back, and thumps against the chair.

Marco twists around to say something, but the words never leave his mouth. Armin stares at something with wide blue eyes causing Marco to swivel forward. “Think this is where they took him?”

“It’s got the same symbols. It must be.”

Marco stares at the windowless walls for a moment, then asks, “How’re we going to get in?”

Armin pauses, but only for a moment. “How much gun powder d’you have left?”

***

Marty sits, back pressed against the wall, warily watching the same zombie from the first time he met the Plague Doctor. It watches him back.

The doctor stands around the corner by the open elevator, kept at a distance by shields and guns.

“We’re either going to do this the hard way or the harder way, Oh-Four-Nine. Once we get you back into containment with your little ‘pets’, the boy is being placed in his own cell.”

The doctor rolls its eyes at their insistence at only referring to it by the given number. So degrading. “I will go back, with my patients, but with the boy as well. Marty belongs to me. Just mark him down the way you list all my patients; ‘oh-four-nine-dash-two’ or whatever it is.” It waves its hand dismissively as though trying to shoo away a bug.

Before the guard responds, his radio statics to life. _“There’s been an explosion at gate B! Personnel are required to guard the gate from escaping SCP at once!”_

“You better hurry and go stop them,” the Doctor states, hitting the button to close the elevator and sending the guards back up.

It heads back over to the main section of the halls by its broken containment, watching as the zombie sniffs at Marty who seems to be trying to merge into the wall. It whistles, causing the undead to look up like a dog and then move away from Marty. It pauses momentarily. Maybe it isn’t _entirely_ wrong when the guard referred to its patients as ‘pets.’

Shaking the thought away, it strides over, looming over Marty and peering down over the beak. Marty only looks up. “We’re going to be moved into a much smaller space unfortunately.” Marty stays quiet and merely nods.

The elevator slides open, and all three turn to the sound.

“Marty! You here?”

Marty’s eyes widen as he quickly stands up. He can’t speak for a second; his heart pounds. “Marco?” he finally manages. Before the Doctor can stop him, Marty jogs into the darkness towards the elevator, careful to not reopen any stitches. The Doctor follows after him.

Rounding the corner, Marty soon comes face to face with his twin and Armin.

“Martin! Thank goodness!”

The twins can’t embrace fast enough.

“How did you find this place? How the hell did you guys get in?”

“Armin rigged an explosion. There should be another one soon. Let’s go.”

Marty starts climbing into the elevator when suddenly electricity shoots through him and he collapses forward, unconscious.

“Martin!”

Armin spots The Doctor before Marco does, and grabs the gun from the bag on the back of Marco’s wheelchair. It’s empty, though Armin pretends it’s fully loaded. He aims it at The Doctor while Marco pulls Marty onto his lap, far enough so he won’t fall. Armin hits the elevator button, never taking the gun off The Doctor until the door closes. Then he puts the gun back in the net bag and holds a hand in front of Marty’s mouth. “He’s breathing. Just unconscious.”

The elevator doors open. Armin peeks out, trying to have as little of his head stick out as possible, before backing up, grabbing the wheelchair handles, and making a mad dash. Marco clutches his brother to keep him from falling from the chair.

“What’s the plan, Ar?” Marco calls back, eyes scanning each dark hallway they pass through.

“This way,” Armin states, pausing to whap a button next to a door. The door slides open, and the statue is blocking the path. “Not this way.” He closes the door again.

Shoving the twins along, Armin darts ahead, soon sprinting through a different door.

After passing through doors and corridors, the trio come to another elevator. Marty is still unconscious and Armin and Marco try to guess the best way out of the building. Taking the elevator down, Armin speeds through the darkened maintenance tunnels. One hallway is bizarre: black gas shoots up from both sides of the walkway. Marco shuts his eyes and Armin tries his best to shield his own with a sleeve.

As soon as Armin makes it through the door on the other end, he blinks rapidly, trying to wash the stinging gas out. Neither Armin nor Marco say anything.

Armin starts pushing the chair again almost immediately. They reach another elevator within minutes. They have not found an exit in the basement.

“Marco,” Armin starts to say, feeling helpless.

“Armin. I think- I think we have to try the surface again. Maybe we’ve missed the guards?” Marco says quietly. He looks down at his brother. “I, um, I think we have to try.”

Entering the elevator, Armin hesitates, then selects the G button. The lift starts to rise, then stops. Scurrying out of it, Armin darts through one set of doors, making a hard left.

“Armin! Stairs!”

“Hang onto something.”

Marco grips his chair with one arm while the other clings to his brother as Armin carefully yet swiftly bounces the chair down the few stairs.

At the bottom, Armin skids the wheelchair around a corner, and for a moment, the chair is on only one wheel. Marco tightens his grip around Marty to keep him from sliding off.

Armin gasps and screeches to a halt. Somehow, The Doctor has reached them. When Armin turns the corner, it emerges from a door immediately to the left.

The jolt of the sudden stop tips both twins from the chair. The brothers land at the Doctor’s feet, and the fall wakes Marty finally.

“Uugh, what happened?”

Marco, not pausing to think, leans forward to grab his brother. He tugs and pulls Marty until he’s able to shove him towards Armin. Before Marco is able to crawl back to his wheelchair, a jolt like electricity shoots down his spine. His vision goes black and he collapses forward.

“MARCO!” Marty crawls forward, grabs his brother’s wrist and bends down, placing an ear over his chest. Nothing. He can’t feel a pulse, or hear a heartbeat. Marco is gone.

The Doctor moves around Marty as he almost glides over to Armin.

Armin shakes his head, managing to tear his wide horrified eyes away from his fallen friend. Snatching the empty gun from the back of the chair, Armin aims the barrel at the creature’s face.

It doesn’t work this time. The Doctor grabs the shaft of the gun and pulls, just enough to cause Armin to stumble forward. It places a hand on his forehead. Armin clenches his eyes, gritting his teeth, and soon collapses to the floor.

Marty hugs his brother’s body to his chest and sobs. As the Doctor lifts Armin, flinging him over its shoulder, Marty’s tears stream harder from his mismatched eyes.

“Why?” he croaks out, his voice sounding broken. “How?”

“I know this place better than you do.” It reaches down to lift Marco up as well.

Marty turns, pulling his brother’s body with him.

The Doctor pulls its arm back. “Fine. You carry him. But I will be operating on him.”

“No you’re fucking not!”

“You don’t have a say in the matter. Now, up.”

Marty doesn’t move.

Reaching down, the Doctor grabs a loose corner of Marty’s jacket and pulls, forcing him to his feet. “My other patients are more obedient,” it says under its breath.

Before it’s able to leave the way it came, guards approach, trying to bring the facility back under control. These are different from the ones before. One turns and lets out a frustrated groan. “Oh-Four-Fucking-Nine. How many times are you going to break out of your fucking containment?” He only then notices the bodies. “God Dammit! Who the fuck were they?”

“I believe the ones who set off those explosions.”

“Oh. I guess you can keep them.” The guard points his gun. “Now get back into containment. And take your pet with you.” At the word pet, he shifts his gun to Marty before aiming it back at the Doctor.

His gun trained on both, the guard herds them down the hall. While carrying Armin’s body, the Doctor drags Marty behind, by his sleeve.

Marty stumbles, trying not to trip at the forceful pulling, or drop his brother’s body. He isn’t able to focus on much. He is empty and numb.

The guard directs them deeper and deeper into the facility, finally arriving at the new containment cell the Plague Doctor is going to be moved to. “In.”

The Doctor enters, pulling Marty along with him. The guard takes a key card out of his pocket and swipes it on the keypad. The door locks.

Marty yanks his sleeve free from the Doctor’s grip. His sinks to the floor, hugging his brother’s body. “I’m sorry. Marco. I-I’m sorry.”

He looks up and scans the small dim room, lit only by an emergency power failure light in the far corner. The main ceiling light is off. There are no windows, and only one door. In the far corner the Doctor is placing Armin on the floor, and then looking around the room.

“They better bring down my table and tools.”

Marty buries his head in his brother’s shirt.


End file.
